The Little Hunter: Innocence
by littlegemini1993
Summary: Christina Winchester was a strange, yet innocent child, once upon a time. Raised in a dark and deadly world, at war between good and evil; humans against monsters, all whilst having no knowledge about it. Innocence is a precious thing, and so easily destroyed or lost. Part 2 of the Little Hunter Saga. Originally known as Years of Innocence. O/C SisFic
1. Christina's 4th Birthday

Tiny hands tugged at shiny wrapping paper, followed by curious green eyes trying to peak at look at the possible content of the wrapped present.

The small child was sat on the ground, with the present between her legs. The almost four-year-old picked up and then passed the parcel between her hands, before giving it a shake.

"Christina? Where did you find that?" came a voice.

The little girl turned her head quickly, a guilty expression on her face. She dropped the present immediately. Jim Murphy levelled himself with the small girl, whilst shaking his head.

"Where did you get the present, Christina? Did you go looking for it?" he asked once again.

The little girl shook her head, her dark fluffy hair swishing with the movement.

"It's my birthday tomorrow" she said, proudly.

The Pastor smiled at the child, taking the present away from her, and placing it on an unreachable shelf. The child followed him.

"Oh, I know it's your birthday tomorrow," he replied. "It's Sam's birthday too. Still, you know that you can't open your present just yet. You can open it, along with your other presents, in the morning with your brother. Okay?"

The little girl pouted, swinging on her heels with her hands behind her back, before eventually nodding her head. Her head turned once again, followed by a megawatt smile. The reason for her cheerful grin, was her sixteen-year-old brother standing in the door way.

"Uh oh," remarked the boy, with an identical mischievous grin. "Pastor Jim, has a certain little girl been making trouble again?"

The Pastor smirked.

"Next time, Dean, hide presents far away from your sister's eagle eyes," he replied. "She's far too curious for her own good."

Dean scooped up the small girl, making her squeak in surprise. The little girl wrapped her skinny arms around his neck, whilst burying her face in his shoulder.

"Chrissie, how many time do we have to say to you? You can't go snooping around in other people's houses," reminded the sixteen-year-old. "It's rude."

Chrissie pouted, as she gazed up at her beloved brother. If Chrissie had a violin, she would be an expert in playing it by now. Dean rolled his eyes and sighed heavily.

"Oh don't you go giving me those big puppy dog eyes," he said. "Y'know, you'll get too old one day to pull that trick on me."

This was so typical of his little sister. Whenever she would get reprimanded for bad behaviour, she would always guilt trip him with her big emerald eyes. She wasn't the only one who would pull that expression to get their own way.

It was her other brother, Sam, that she inherited the puppy eyes from. Sam shared his birthday with his baby sister. It was originally thought that Chrissie would be born a boy, but it came to a surprise to everyone that she turned out to be a girl. Eight-year-old Sam had been slightly offended at the idea of his new sibling gate crashing his special day. Not only did the new baby steal his old bedroom, but he also missed out on a birthday party with his friends and family because of her, but those thoughts of jealously soon disappeared after a few days. Even more so due to the sudden death of their mother, precisely six months later.

Mary Winchester was killed in a mysterious house fire on the second of November of the year nineteen ninety-one. Nobody knew the cause, apart from John Winchester. He began intense investigating into the fire and his wife's death. It was only when he visited a local Lawrence psychic named Missouri Mosely for answers, that he learned the truth.

It wasn't an electrical fire that took his wife away from him and his bereaved children, it was something far more sinister. A demon had entered their home and started the fire. For what reason? Missouri didn't have answers. As John clearly stated, his wife was pinned to the nursery ceiling, with her stomach ripped open before being engulfed in flames. He wasn't the only one to have seen this horrific sight. Twelve-year-old Dean was so traumatised by witnessing his mother's brutal death, he didn't utter a word until several months later. Even now, Dean refused to talk about that fateful night. Four years later, and the subject was still far too raw for him to recall.

Since discovering the truth about the supernatural world, John began a new life as a hunter, and began to train his children in the life. Sam didn't discover the truth until Christmas nineteen ninety-two, when he came across his father's hunting journal, when he was nine years old. Christina, or as she was affectionately known as, Chrissie, remained entirely in the dark about that dangerous and scary world. John wanted to at least try and protect his only daughter, since he wasn't there to shield his sons from it. The last thing John, and the boys wanted, was for that childish innocence to shatter. They wanted Chrissie to have as normal a childhood as possible, before the inevitable happened.

"Anyway, little missy, look at the time, you should be in your bed now," stated Dean, pointing at the clock above Pastor Jim's desk. "You don't want to be cranky on your birthday now do you?"

The time was just after eight o'clock, a which was late in comparison to Chrissie's seven-thirty bedtime routine.

"Oh no," commented the little girl, resembling a koala bear, as her limbs were coiled around her brother. "It bedtime."

Pastor Jim, now seated behind his desk, and thumbing through a thick dusty book, exchanged an amused expression with the teenage boy.

"Well, at least you're in your pyjamas" mumbled Dean, as he carried his baby sister out of Pastor Jim's office.

The nearly four-year old yawned, as exhausted start to take over. She had been bounding all over the place all day, and now her battery had finally run out.

"Someone's sleepy" said Dean, in a sing song tone.

The small child grumbled, her face morphing turning into her trademark pout.

"No, I'm not" she huffed, as Dean made his way up the stairs.

The teenager rolled his eyes once more. Chrissie seemed to have an answer for everything, and always had to have the last word. There was no denying that she was a handful.

"Alright, you're not tired then" replied Dean, as he opened the bedroom door.

It was a humble enough bedroom. It was fitted with three single beds, with wooden frames, three separate side tables and lamps. The walls were once duck egg blue. Each of the three siblings could figure out who belonged to what side of the room.

At the end of the bed that Chrissie claimed, was a medium sized box, painted a mustard yellow colour, with bumble bee stickers on it. Inside were some toys from the Sunday school, the ones nobody played with. You had to be careful not to step on a stray piece of Lego, that was guaranteed to be lying about on the floor.

Sam, the bookworm of the family, had a small book shelf close to his bed, which held several long-forgotten library books, including an old copy of the Bible. Sam often kept a torch inside the drawer of his side table, if he wanted to read during the night, whilst hiding under his bed sheets, or under the bed itself.

Above Dean's bed, was a faded Terminator 2 poster, which was beginning to curl at the edges. If he was lucky, he could smuggle an issue of Busty Asian Beauty's under his pillow, beside his .45 caliber Colt pistol.

Unknown to the younger siblings, Dean had carved numerous protection runes on the underside of their bedframes, out of view. Chrissie would only ask questions, and Sam had been aware of the added decorations for a while, after a night of late studying.

"I suppose you don't need me to tell you a bedtime story then" added Dean.

Chrissie raised her head from Dean's shoulder. That got her attention.

"Sammy told me the story about the lady with the lost shoe," she said, as Dean sat down on the bed with her, placing her on his lap. "She sat on a pumpkin. Fairy lady said she had to go home before the big ticker tock when bong."

Dean chuckled. Chrissie had a way with words that never failed to amuse him and Sam. She had recently got into the habit of making up words if she couldn't find the right one.

"Sammy tells good stories" commented the small child, as Dean began to brush her hair.

Besides her big emerald eyes, Chrissie's most identifiable feature was her hair. It was a dark chocolate colour, with a temperamental nature. Most of the time it looked like she had been dragged through a series of hedges, backwards. Chrissie was never a fan of the hairbrush for this very reason.

"Ouch!" yelped the little girl. "That hurts."

She whipped her head around, and made a grab for the hand brush.

"Ah, I don't think so," scolded Dean, ignoring the cute scowl from his sister. "Your hair needs brushing every day, Chrissie, you know that. Once in the morning, and then before bed. Or else your hair will get out of control, and it'll only hurt more."

Chrissie huffed, and folded her arms. She continued to whine and fuss, as Dean brushed out each tangle and unruly wave.

* * *

Meanwhile, downstairs in kitchen, Sam was helping Pastor Jim blow up some red balloons. Normally birthdays were low key, but this year the brothers wanted to make a little effort.

"I usually forget that we share a birthday," said Sam, between puffs. "Don't ask why, because I don't even know why myself. Birthdays are just like any other days to me."

Pastor Jim carefully taped a balloon on the door frame. He glanced over at the boy, scotch tape in his hand.

"That's a modest way of putting it, Sam," he said. "However, unlike your little sister, and much like brother, you'll have fond memories of what a birthday is."

Sam paused for a moment, before handing another balloon towards the Pastor.

"That's why I wanted to do something this year," begins Sam. "I want Chrissie to have at least one memorial birthday. I still can't believe one of your churchgoers baked her a birthday cake. They didn't have to."

Jim laughed, as he taped the balloon on the other end of the door frame.

"Well, your sister made quiet an impression at the sermon on Sunday as you'll remember," he recalled. "I think everyone in the pews laughed when she cried out _"My friend Gabriel says Moses has stinky feet"_ Though I remember Mrs Larson, who runs the Sunday school, telling me that Christina shouted out about making it rain frogs."

Sam sniggered at the memory. Chrissie was well known for her wild imagination. She would make outlandish declarations, often at very inappropriate times, and she had at least two imaginary friends, Gabriel, and Cas. Her father was wary about this type of behaviour, due to his overprotectiveness surrounding his daughter. Everyone was protective over Chrissie, and it wasn't without reason.

It wasn't just because of her very young age, but rather because of one unique trait that she harnessed. Chrissie had the gift of empathy. She could feel the emotions and physical pains of others as intensely her own. This barrage of sensations often over-stimulated the little girl, which would manifest in erratic behaviour. As Dean often put it, like a mini conductor for all sorts of crazy stuff. It appeared to be an inherited ability, passed down from her great-grandmother, whom she was named after.

Suddenly, a high-pitched shriek broke their attention. Startled, Jim almost dropped the scotch tape from his hands.

"What on earth?!" he exclaimed.

Sam continued to blow the balloons, not even phased by the noise.

"Oh that? It's just Chrissie," he commented, as he finished with the very last balloon. "Dean must be reading Hansel and Gretel again. She loves acting it out the story with him. It's her favourite fairy-tale. Especially the end when Gretel deep fries the witch in the oven. It's kinda disturbing when you think about it."

Jim just blinked in bewilderment. He then proceeded to tape a small banner that read out _"Happy Birthday"_ across the middle section of the door frame.

"There, all finished and ready for the morning" said Jim, with a satisfied smile.

A few moments later, Dean appeared, looking exhausted.

"Sam, remind me to never have kids" he complained.

Sam chuckled, and rolled his eyes. He hopped onto the kitchen counter, his eyes glancing in the direction of the stairs.

"Is she finally asleep?" he inquired.

Dean snorted as he leaned against the kitchen table, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair.

"Only just," he acknowledged. "You know what she's like, Sam. A freakin' silent alarm would wake her up. Anyway, c'mon, we better hit the hay too. She'll have us awake at dawn."

Sam plonked down off the counter, and made his way towards the stairs. Dean followed.

"Good night, boys" called Pastor Jim, a glass of water in his hand and a small leather journal in the other.

With the children all in bed, Jim could now write in his hunter journal in piece. John needed help with some information on a specific case a few towns over.

* * *

The following day went off without a hitch. The four-year-old was delighted at the discount baby doll her brothers gave her, not even caring that it was a cheap one from a gas station, and a jigsaw puzzle from Pastor Jim. She always enjoyed simple things. That's all that mattered in her little universe. That morning, she pottered around, pretending to comfort a crying baby.

There were of course some of her own real tears when she discovered that her father wasn't going to be around for another couple of days. She was devastated that John wasn't there for a birthday hug. Dean was there to dry her tears and to console her, like always.

"Don't cry, Chrissie," he begged, as he cradled her in his lap. "Daddy will be back soon. You can show him the new dolly that you got. So, can you give your favourite brother a big birthday smile?"

Chrissie hiccupped, her cheeks flushed pink from crying.

"I don't have a favourite brother" she sniffled, as Dean wiped her button nose with a tissue.

Dean then bounced her on his knee, trying to get her to smile. Eventually, the little girl let out a small giggle.

"That's my girl" grinned Dean.

After a quick lunch, the brothers dozed on the couch, whilst watching The Price is Right. They only woke when Jim Murphy reappeared.

"Time for the cake, boys. Where's your sister?" he asked. "She's been very quiet."

The brothers' eyes widened in unison, and the duo charged into the kitchen. Dean couldn't help but laugh at the sight that he was confronted with. Sam just gawped in sheer disbelief. Jim shook his head, with an amusement expression.

Chrissie was sitting on the kitchen table, with cake frosting and sponge all over her face and hands. The four-year-old gulped, having been caught red headed doing something very naughty.

"Chrissie?" pressed Dean, folding his arms, as he leaned against the door frame. "What happened?"

The little girl paused for a moment, trying to come up with a brilliant answer, and she did.

"I fell."

* * *

 **A:N** **HEY GUYS. Here is the new revamped version of Years of Innocence. The revamped Chris saga has begun. The originals will remain, but will no longer but updated. I will still take inspiration from the original drafts, from all original series. Future chapters will be heavily influenced from the previous. I felt a revamp was needed on the whole series, as I felt my creative writing skills have improved compared to when I first started writing fan fiction back in 2011. I cringe when I read over most of my early work. Also I've watched all seasons of SPN and I'm more clued on the show's lore and universe compared to my novice view when I started. I only began watching SPN back in late 2010. I've figured out the character of Chris better, and I know where I'm taking her story.**

 **Stay tuned**

 **Please review**


	2. Words of Wisdom

Pastor Jim Murphy was always eager to answer questions from inquisitive youngsters, no more so than the ever curious Christina Winchester. Religion was a mysterious fog in the small child's mind and she would ask a torrent of questions to which the Pastor was more than happy to answer.

Chrissie sat at the large wooden table in the Pastor's kitchen, swinging her dangling legs as she admired a children's illustrated version of the First Testament.

"Pasta Jim, how did Mr God make the world?" enquired Chrissie with an adorable tilt of the head.

Jim Murphy smiled at her and joined her at the table.

"Well, he made it in seven days," he answered. "He used all his power, to create everything. From the stars, to the bugs on the ground."

Chrissie wrinkled her cute button nose, whilst scratching her head in contemplation. She glanced at the glossy picture and inspected every single detail of the illustration.

"I don't like bugs" she commented.

She held the book up for a better look. Her eldest brother had long since stated, that Chrissie should have a book of words of wisdom.

"I think that Mr God was playing in with lights not switch on, then he sneezed and the light switched on again," accounted Chrissie in a endearing yet serious tone. "He made us up, because he had nobody to play Legos with. We had big fights with dinosaurs, so that baby Jesus could be made up. His Mommy was called Mary too. He's magic like Santa. Bad men didn't like him, and turned him to Easter Egg."

Pastor Jim blinked and chuckled in amusement. Four-year-old logic was different compared to adult logic. Chrissie flipped onwards until she tilted her head again, a puzzled expression on her freckled face.

"Pasta Jim?," Chrissie asked, stabbing at a censored nude Adam and Eve drawing. "Why is that man and lady naked? Are they's gonna have a bath?"

* * *

 **A:N: This chapter is originally from YEARS OF INNOCENCE.**

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	3. Daycare Blues

Chrissie happily hummed to herself, as she dawdled around inside the little play-house, which stood by the music corner. The four-year-old loved play-houses. It was always her first choice in every single day care she visited. The little girl was kneeling by the door, with a small plastic cup in her right hand. With her tongue poked out in concentration, she waddled awkwardly in a squatting position, pretending to pour the cup around the ledges of the play-house walls. She puffed her cheeks out, as returned to the door, before standing upright. Her nose twitched, whilst shaking the content of the empty cup. The twitch was an adorable quirk that the little girl displayed whenever she was either deep in thought or troubled. It resembled a rabbit, to the point she was given the nickname Bunny by her family. The small child huffed dramatically.

"No more salt!" she sighed. "Daddy's gonna have to buy more."

Chrissie instantly turned around, and focused her attention on the small bed in the corner. She sighed loudly, and wandered over to the source of her annoyance. Goober, her bizarre looking patchwork teddy bear, was propped up by a pillow, with a maroon blanket over him.

"Goober, you're supposed to be sleeping! Bad bear!" she scolded, before her expression suddenly changed. "Oh no! You had a nightmare?"

The little girl scooped up her teddy and held him close. She rocked her stuffed bear in her skinny arms, as if it was a baby. An unimpressed scowl soon appeared across her face, when little Freddie wandered in, followed by Sally.

Chrissie had always been quite contented in playing on her own. She really didn't mind solitary activities, as she preferred the peace. Other children would often charge in and ruin her fun, and she didn't like being told what to do. However, the little girl still played with the other children. It had to be on her terms, and it always depending on what mood she was in. Today, she wasn't in the best of moods.

"This is my house!" stated the four-year-old, in a very bossy tone. "Go away! You didn't say the password!"

Chrissie glared at the intruders, as confident Freddie picked up the toy phone, and started to have a conversation on the imaginary other end. Sally pretended to do the dishes in the sink. Chrissie stomped up to Freddie, with Goober still in her arms.

"My house!" she complained, getting upset. "Get out!"

Freddie blinked in surprise, with the phone by his ear. Confused at first, he scratched the top of his dark curly hair, before he shook his head.

"No" replied the three-year-old boy.

Chrissie didn't like that, and stomped her feet. Freddie then snatched the plastic cup in his free hand, before plonking himself down on the chair in the other corner. He then started to use the toy phone like a TV remote.

"Out!" Chrissie whined. "My house!"

Little Sally, with a red ribbon in her hair, appeared behind Chrissie, and gently tapped on her shoulder. Pouting, Chrissie turned around. That was another thing she didn't like. She hated it when unfamiliar people entered her personal space, especially if they touched her. It was as if Chrissie got an electric shock from the intruder, as her reactions where often unpredictable.

"It not your house," Sally pointed out. "We have to share."

Much to Chrissie's dismay, two more children made their way into the play-house. It was too crowded now, and her alone time was ruined. Chrissie stomped her feet again, before bursting into tears. The little girl wailed into her teddy, as she shuffled out of the play-house, only to be consoled by Miss Mendez.

"Aw. What's wrong, Christina?" asked Miss Mendez as she knelt to her level, whilst rubbing her back.

The distraught four-year-old wept and hiccupped into Goober's patch-work lining. Tears rained down her cheeks, and her bottom lip trembled. The day-care assistant soon figured out the cause of the child's upset. She guided Chrissie away, and grabbed the box of tissues that sat on top of the arts and crafts storage drawers.

"Honey, the play-house is for everyone, remember," she reminded her, as she dabbed at Chrissie's face with a tissue. "I know you like the play-house, but we have to share. Look, you're Daddy gonna be picking you up very soon, so why don't you draw him a nice picture? I bet he'll like that."

Chrissie nodded reluctantly, an adorable pout on her face. She slumped into a chair, and reached for a sheet of plain paper. Miss Mendez moved the small tray of colourful crayons closer. The little girl rubbed her teary eyes, as she tried to stop crying. Chrissie was exhausted. Miss Mendez had noticed this too. It was odd because they had not long since had nap time.

The child's father had warned her, and her co-worked Maxine, that Chrissie would get tired if she was overwhelmed. This would often be the result of her emotional outbursts. Strangely, Chrissie would even get angry or upset over something she wasn't involved in. She took a bad reaction yesterday, when Louis pushed Abigail in the playground. Chrissie had been close by with her cherished teddy bear, smelling and admiring the flowers that had been planted in old wooden barrels. The incident interrupted Chrissie's peaceful moment, and caused an severe emotional reaction, that matched that off Abigail, who came away with a scuffed elbow. The staff were concerned about this unusual behaviour. It was decided that once the child's father returned, they would speak with him about it.

Chrissie was still sniffling as she scribbled on the piece of paper. It didn't take her long to finish her picture. That was another thing that would be brought up in their meeting with John. The staff were curious and worried about the odd drawings the little girl would often create. Angels and biblical themes seemed to be a favourite artistic subject matter, along with a black car and her odd teddy bear. Yet, it was the inappropriate ones that were raising eyebrows. Pictures of a burning house and scary shadow creatures surrounded by fire, weren't the typical things one would expect a small four-year-old little girl would be drawing.

Chrissie pushed the paper and crayons away, before burying her face into her teddy again. Miss Mendez rubbed her back, trying to comfort her. She gazed at the picture. It was a crude drawing of Chrissie herself, with different coloured scribble marks around her. Miss Mendez raised a quizzical eyebrow, before clearing her throat.

"Christina? What does this drawing mean?" she asked, in a soft tone. "Why are you sad? You look very sad in the picture."

The little girl gazed up forlornly at the day-care assistant, her big green eyes glittering with unshed tears.

"My head hurts," she pouted, looking both adorable and miserable at the same time. "I wanna go home. I want my Daddy"

Miss Mendez consoled the small child the best she could, as she started to cry again. Compared to the frustrated tone from before, the little girl's cries were more distressful. Mrs Berry ventured over towards the pair, after being beckoned by Miss Mendez. Chrissie was unaware of the concerned expressions the older women shared as they inspected her drawing. As usual, she was in her own world. Maxine Berry raised an eyebrow and shook her head slightly. She had encountered various children and challenges in her ten years of working at the day care, but little Christina was something different.

"Lucy, can you keep hold of that, and take it through to the office," instructed Maxine. "We'll have a talk with Mr Winchester when he comes in."

Hearing her father being mentioned snapped the child from her thoughts.

"Have I been bad again?" she asked, with a troubled look.

As Lucy Mendez quickly gathered the drawing and walked in the direction of the office, Chrissie's eyes followed her. Maxine gently rubbed the back of her curly greying hair, before kneeling to the child's level. Chrissie had her arms crossed on the table.

"No, honey," she replied. "We're just going to have a talk with your Daddy about a few things. It's nothing for you to worry about."

Chrissie stuck her bottom lip out as she settled her chin against her folded arms. She knew her father wouldn't be happy about that. It hadn't been the first time John had been summoned about his daughter's behaviour.

"Daddy says it's bad to lie. You don't like my pictures," mumbled the small girl. "That's why you and Miss Mendez made funny faces."

Maxine was startled by the response from the young child. That was another unique trait that Chrissie had obtained due to her empathic ability. Nobody could tell a lie in front of her, as she would detect it automatically. Sensing Maxine's discomfort, the little girl bowed her head, and squeezed her teddy close to her chest.

"Okay, why don't you go and play," suggested Maxine, as she cleared her throat. "Your Daddy will be coming to collect you soon."

Chrissie sighed heavily, and melodramatically slid off the chair. She then turned, with her face buried in Goober's patchy chest.

"When? I wanna go home now!" she grumbled, now in a bad mood.

Maxine kept her patience, as she levelled herself with the child, before pointing at the clock above the playroom door.

"Your Daddy told me he would come and get you when the big hand is at the number twelve, and the little hand is at number two. That's two o'clock" Maxine explained.

Chrissie looked up at the clock.

"I know that" she answered back, impudently.

The four-year-old proceeded to wander around the playroom, with the other children not so subtly avoiding her. Even at her tender age, Chrissie knew she was different. Her unpredictable outbursts and odd habits alarmed most children. Defeated, she ended up sulking by the book corner with Goober.

"I'm gonna read you a story, Goober" whispered Chrissie, into the bear tiny left ear, in stark contrast to the larger right ear.

She mumbled away to her teddy bear, as she browsed through the small collection of colourful books, before settling for _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_. Reading eased her stresses and offered her knowledge at the same time. The child became so contented, that she was unaware of the passage of time and that her father had arrived. Before John could call for his daughter, Maxine quickly guided him into the staff office.

* * *

"Is something wrong? Has something happened?" he demanded.

John was then instructed to sit down. He was aware of a drawing in Maxine's hand. This hadn't been the first time he had been called into an office about his children. He was already used to it know, as Dean was a smartass.

"Can I see?" asked John, without letting Maxine explain the reason for this meeting.

Maxine handed John the drawing, with a concerned look on her face. John examined the picture carefully, his hand shaking ever so slightly.

"Has Christina experienced any recent trauma? Children at her age are very visual. I was thinking she was projecting anything she saw onto paper," queried Maxine. "Has she witnessed a house fire of any kind?"

John frowned slightly, before shaking his head.

"No," he replied. "Well, there was a house fire some years ago. My wife."

John paused mid-sentence. His throat tightened at the mention of Mary. Chrissie reminded him so much of her. The only thing that was missing was the blonde hair. He wouldn't be able to look at her if she wasn't brunette like him.

"Anyway, Chrissie was just a baby," he continued, regaining his manly composure. "She couldn't remember anything. Babies don't have memories. Right?"

Maxine remained silent for a moment. She had wrongly assumed that the little girl would be running into the arms of a mother as soon as she went home. Sympathy now rested with this lost looking single father. Yet behind his stubble and dark eyes, she could see a man of great inner strength and fearlessness. Maxine encouraged John to remain seated, as he was ready to leave. She could now she where Christina got her grumpy sigh from.

"There's more, isn't there?" quizzed John, as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Maxine nodded, causing him to grunt. He returned his gaze to the drawing. There was no doubt Chrissie was creative, but this was different, and it scared the hell out of him. John knew he would have to contact Missouri Mosley again. He had visited her twice before. First, was right after the fire that claimed Mary. It was Missouri who informed him of the dreadful truth about hunting and the supernatural. The second, was when he couldn't handle a then two-year-old Chrissie's violent temper tantrum anymore. Missouri once again told him life changing news. His daughter was an empathic psychic. He needed her help again.

Maxine cleared her throat, bringing John out of his thoughts.

"Christina doesn't seem to be settling," remarked the older woman. "She's very bubbly but I've noticed some challenges."

John gazed up from the picture. He knew what was coming next, as he had heard the same speech numerous times, and would always answer back the very same way.

"Look, I know she's different from some of the other kids," he retorted defensively. "I've told you before about the way she is. I can't change that. It's who she is. My daughter just like any other little girl. She just more expressive that's all."

Maxine lowered her head, and briefly glanced at her aging hands.

"Alright," she replied, backing down. "None the less, Christina is a joy, but we will continue to monitor her, and if there's any more causes concern, we'll need to have another talk. We're only looking out for your daughter's welfare, Mr Winchester."

John grunted, offended. He hated it when strangers questioned his parenting or made comments about his children. He stood up from his chair.

"My little girl is perfect the way she is," he stated, defiantly. "Nobody can change that."

Maxine held her hands up defensively.

"That's not what I said" she stuttered.

* * *

Meanwhile, Chrissie could sense a familiar energy nearby. A smile appeared on her face, as she scooped her bear into her arms, after tossing the book down. The energy grew more powerful the closer she got to the office. Chrissie impatiently knocked on the door and tried to reach for the handle. Suddenly, the door opened, causing her to fall forward.

John braced his daughter's fall. How long had she been there? Had she heard anything?

"Daddy!" beamed the little girl.

John scooped up his daughter, plus her teddy, into his strong arms. Delighted, Chrissie wound her arms around her father's neck and hugged him tightly.

"Hey sweetie," smiled John, as he squeezed back. "Did you have a good day?"

Chrissie scowled for a moment.

"No!" she glowered. "Mrs Berry didn't like my picture and took it away, and Sally and Freddie wouldn't get out of my house. Freddie kicked the salt away, Daddy. That's bad. It's bad not to have salt in the house."

John consoled his stressed daughter by rubbing her back. He knew that if she had a rough day, then that would mean himself and the boys were in for a rougher night. Still, the boys would always cox Chrissie out of her moods. Chrissie continued to cuddle into her father. John carried her over to the cubbies, to collect her coat and bag pack.

"I know, but you're a good girl for remembering that," smirked John. "Not everyone knows that, but you can teach them. They might not know why, but it's safe."

Chrissie tilted her head in confusion, like a puppy.

"Why?" she asked.

John sighed, as he tried to smooth down his daughter's wild wavy hair. He secured the cute bumblebee hair clip, that was hanging by her temple. Her overgrown bangs were getting ridiculous, hence the hair clip. Time for a hair cut.

"Not now, honey," he replied. "I'll tell you another time. Just not now. Okay?"

The four-year-old nodded, unaffected by the lack of answer to her question. Normally she would keep pestering until she was given a satisfying enough answer to whatever she had asked. Chrissie gazed at him adoringly, gently patting his five o'clock shadow.

"You had a beard this morning," she commented. "Why did you cut it off? I don't like it. You look funny."

John chuckled. He expected this response from her, as she was very observant and extremely honest. Typical four-year-old behaviour. Nothing wrong with speaking your mind, as John believed, as it was a shared trait that he had with his daughter. He just hoped it wouldn't result in another smart mouthed child. She was already picking up on her eldest brother's bad habits.

"I just wanted to shave," he answered back, as he fixed the hood on her red coat. "You still think Daddy's a handsome guy, right?"

Chrissie blinked, as she thought for a moment.

"No," she said. "You're Daddy."

John smirked, before giving his daughter a quick peck on the forehead, before guiding her out of the day-care centre.

* * *

 **A:N Sorry for the long breaks in the updates guys. My work pattern holds me back from updating on a regular scale. I'll try to update as soon as I can.**

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	4. The Monster Under The Motel Room Bed

There was that noise again. She swore on her teddy's life that she could hear something moving underneath her. Chrissie cautiously peered over the bed. The frightened four-year-old clutched Goober close to her chest, before huddling under her bed sheets, too afraid to investigate any further. Suddenly music started to blare from the wall next door, followed by noisy drunken laughing, and other more suggestive noises. Already on edge, the little girl stared to wail. She started to howl louder, when she heard banging sounds.

"Hey! Keep the racket down! We're trying to sleep!" roared Dean, disgruntled from being woken up by the clamour.

Sam grimaced, as he rubbed his tired eyes, when he figured out what was happening next door.

"I hate cheap motels" he grumbled, before sticking his head under the pillow.

He then sat up, as he could hear their little sister crying in the next room. Chrissie was sharing a room with their father for this pit stop, but John was finishing off a salt and burn. Judging by the lack of gunpowder and musky sweat in the air, their father hadn't returned yet.

Sam turned towards his brother, but found Dean to be one step ahead, as he had already went running to Chrissie. The little girl was very distressed.

"Hey. Hey. What's wrong?" consoled Dean, as he cradled the crying four-year-old, before gently rocking her back and forth. "Shhhh. Shhhh. It's okay. I'm here. Sammy's here too."

Chrissie clutched onto her eldest brother, as tears rained down her scarlet red cheeks. Her bottom lip trembled, as she tried to catch a breath.

"What's wrong, kiddo?" asked Dean. "What's with the tears, huh?"

The child coughed and spluttered, as Dean rubbed her back.

"Shhhh. Calm down. You're gonna make yourself sick" he added. "Now, are you gonna tell me and Sammy what's wrong?"

Chrissie started to hiccup as she eventually regained some composure. Sam dab at her eyes, using Goober's paws. The small child gave him and the bear a faint watery smile. Her eyes then blew up in fear, and she reached out for Sam and Goober. Sam grabbed onto her tiny hands, confused. Goober fell onto the carpet. Chrissie then burst into fresh tears.

"Christina! What's wrong?" Dean demanded, in a firmer tone.

Chrissie dramatically pointed to the floor, with another covering half her face. She was trembling all over.

"Sammy! Get Goober! The monster will eat him if you don't!" she declared, melodramatically.

Dean sighed heavily, as Sam rolled his eyes. Dean hugged his sister tightly, as Sam leaned over and picked the bear from the floor. Chrissie pouted as Sam held the bear in front of her. She hiccupped once again, before snatching her bear.

"Thank you, Sammy" she sniffled.

Dean then cupped the side of his sister's face, to make her look up at him. Chrissie's cheeks were still red from all the tears and screaming.

"Now, what about this monster? Where is it?" he questioned, playing along with Chrissie's overactive imagination.

Chrissie pouted, before pointing under the bed. Sam raised an quizzical eyebrow, and peeked under the bed, only to make Chrissie hysterical again.

"Get back, Sammy, it's under the bed!" she insisted theatrically, trying to reach for her twelve-year-old brother.

Sam reappeared, with his hands up in a defensive pose. Dean shook his head at him. Chrissie was still reaching for him.

"What? There's nothing there!" Sam stated.

Chrissie was offended. She threw herself back and cuddled into Dean, trying to act all cute to get him on her side. Sam rolled his eyes, at the smug expression on Dean's face.

"I'm her favourite" he mouthed, before pulling a face at Sam.

The younger boy grunted, too tired to put up with anything now. Dean continued to comfort their sister.

"I'll go check, because if the monster sees me, it'll go away. I'll scare him off" he told her, putting on his big brother bravado on full display.

Chrissie hiccupped, as Dean smoothed down her unruly hair. He the planted a quick kiss on her forehead before sliding off the bed.

"Really? Dean, c'mon it's school in the morning," whined Sam, as he rubbed his weary eyes. "There's nothing there, Chrissie."

Dean shushed his brother, trying to encourage him to play along for their sister's sake. Sam eventually gave in, hoping to get some sleep afterwards. Acting all careful and cautious, both boys crawled under the bed and yelled in unison.

" **BOO**!"

Chrissie was so startled by their shout, that it cured her hiccups. She gazed expectantly at her brothers, once they reappeared.

"Is it gone?" enquired the small child.

Dean gazed at Sam, with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah," grumbled Sam, unenthusiastically. "It's gone now. Can we go back to sleep?"

Before she could even answer, Sam had already started to slog his way back to his bed. He was out for the count the second his head hit the pillow. Chrissie tapped Dean on the arm.

"De?" she asked, in a small sleepy voice. "Can I sleep beside you? I don't like this room."

Dean smiled endearingly at his baby sister, before slowly carrying her through to the main room where he and Sam were sleeping. He rubbed her back, a trick that had always worked ever since she was a restless baby.

There was always a rule when it came to his younger siblings. Sam and Chrissie had to sleep furthest from any door or window, in case of a surprise supernatural attack. However, Chrissie would always want to share with Dean, as she was afraid of the dark and of strange places. If they were to be attacked, then it would still have to get through Dean first. It didn't take too long for the remaining two siblings to fall asleep.

On John's return, he found his children safe and asleep in their beds. Just as he had left them.

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	5. Chrissie's First Stake-Out

It was well established that Chrissie was far too curious for her own good. It could also reach a certain point that it would make people nervous. A recent example is when John was overseeing a meeting that Dean was having with a fellow student. Chrissie had insisted in tagging along, since John mentioned ice cream and bowling alley. You couldn't brush this four-year-old off.

Dean was unaware that he was chaperoned from afar by his own father. It was for his own good, as John reminded himself. Certain creatures had the ability to disguise themselves to lure young men away to their deaths. Not that John instantly assumed that the pretty young red head that Dean was with, was a monster in anyway.

"Why are we sitting here, Daddy?" asked Chrissie, as she tried to find her brother amongst the crowd in the busy diner. She grinned, before standing up on booth seat and waving her arms about excitedly. "Daddy, look! Dean is over there!"

John had intentionally picked the furthest away booth, to avoid detection. However, Chrissie wasn't very good at staying hidden, or quiet. John sat her down, which caused her to yelp in surprise.

"We can't let him know where here, honey" John stated.

Chrissie tilted her head like a confused puppy, before peaking out of the booth.

"Why?" she demanded, eager to march over to her brother for answers. The little girl made a move to leave the booth. "I'll go get him."

Once again, John pulled her back, and just in time, as Dean briefly gazed in their direction. Chrissie folded her arms moodily, with an adorable pout to match. She had never a fan of being restrained against her will.

"Look, we can't go over there, because your brother is on a date" explained John.

"What's a date?" quizzed the little girl.

John thought for a fleeting moment. Should he tell her, in hopes that he would never have to deal with her eventually going on dates herself? Who was he kidding. Anybody that would ask her would be sharply told to _"go away"_ by Chrissie herself, or giving the choice of physical torture by her brothers.

"Well, it's when two people meet up and do things together," John replied. "Mommy and I went on dates before we got married. It's a very special thing."

Chrissie blinked slowly, her tiny mind trying to work out this new concept that she had be informed about.

"Why are we here?" Chrissie wondered aloud, still very much puzzled, as she began to inspect the children's menu that was now in her hands. Her eyes widened, before she blurted out: "Daddy, I want a milkshake."

John pinched at the bridge of his nose. He then reached out for the regular menu, trying to keep focused on the task at hand.

"We're here to make sure Dean doesn't get into trouble," answered John. "And you'll get your milkshake, miss bossy boots."

John settled on a straight black coffee, as Chrissie began to gulp down a milkshake. The last thing she needed was a sugar rush.

"Hey, slow down!" reprimanded John, taking the milkshake away from his daughter. "You'll make yourself sick again. Remember the last time you drink too quickly? Sammy didn't like you being sick on him. You can have it back, if you be sensible."

Chrissie sulked, before obeying her father. Moments after, she began to blow bubbles into the milkshake, which was a trick that Dean had foolishly taught her.

"Why is Sammy not here?" she queried, before being distracted by her bubbles. "Daddy, look at my bubbles."

John sighed. He hated leaving his other son behind, however Sam was being challenging again. The boy had refused to snoop on his brother. His reasoning behind his refusal was because he thought John was being controlling again, which sparked another heated vocal fight. Chrissie hated it when they argued. The thought of Sam being alone made John anxious. Anything and everything is out there, waiting to attack.

"Sammy had to finish his homework," replied John, before giving his daughter a firm glare of disapproval. "Christina, what did I just tell you?"

Chrissie stopped blowing bubbles, much to John's relief. John couldn't allow himself to get side-tracked by his little girl's hyperactive antics.

* * *

Not too long after, father and daughter were on the move. John wandered into the bowling alley, unnoticed, with a giggling Chrissie by his side.

"It's like hide and seek" grinned the four-year-old, as she held onto her father's side.

John kneeled at her level, taking hold of her tiny hands, as she tried to run off to the arcade, where she had spotted a claw machine filled with toys.

"Yeah, just like hide and seek," he reminded her. "We can't let Dean know we're here, okay. If he finds out we're here, he'll be very upset. Now, what's the rule about busy places like this again?"

Chrissie twirled around, preoccupied by all the loud noise, and flashing lights of the lively bowling alley.

"To stay with Daddy," she acknowledged. "I might get lost."

She was overwhelmed with excitement, brought on by all the animated energies around her. John stood up tall, whilst his daughter danced around his legs, like a maypole. He couldn't stop himself from smirking in amusement.

"That's right, you stay right by my side, okay?" he reiterated "No wandering off?"

Chrissie paused and beamed up at her father, flashing her baby teeth at him. It was her mischievous smile.

"Christina?" repeated John, strictly. "Is that a yes?"

Chrissie nodded her head, enthusiastically, before resuming her weird little dance around her father's legs. John sighed, before trying to find his bearings, and to track down his son. He soon spotted Dean within the middle of the bowling lanes. The sight of his sixteen-year-old son acting awkward and jittery around a young female made him smirk in amusement. His observation was broken, when Chrissie dragged him over to the claw machine.

Dean's date was a bubbly girl, called Jenny. She had copper red hair and dark eyes. In some way, she reminded him of Robin, the girl he left behind months previous, after his stay at a boy's home. He had overheard her singing and playing guitar during lunch period several days earlier. In a surprising turn of events, Jenny asked him out on a date. Dean tried not to stare, as Jenny collected another bowling ball. Jenny giggled.

"Are you blushing again?" she asked, with a wide smile.

Dean he tried in vain to stop his cheeks from flushing. Damn teenage hormones he cursed to himself.

"No," he squeaked, before clearing his throat. "Why would I be?"

Dean's eyes widened. Oh crap? Was that the wrong thing to say? Jenny smirked with amusement, as she turned around, before travelling down the lane and with one strong swing of the arm, she scored a perfect strike. Dean's jaw dropped. The game had just started, and it looked like he was going to get his ass kicked already. Later, whilst Jenny was in the restroom, Dean heard a familiar voice calling his name. He frowned and raised a quizzical eyebrow. Dean turned around and saw his little sister hiding behind a gumball machine.

"Chrissie?" he called out, in disbelief.

The little girl leapt out from behind the gumball machine. Dean could only blink. What was she doing here? Was she alone? How did she find him here? The teen wandered over to her and knelt beside her. He took hold of her hands. The little girl was clearly buzzing on a sugar rush.

"Honey, what are you doing here?" he fussed. "How did you get here? Where's Daddy? Is Sammy with you?"

Dean quickly scanned the bowling alley, wondering how his four-year-old sister tracked him down to this place.

"Daddy's over there" declared Chrissie, as she pointed over at the arcade, and the unamused former marine striding towards them.

Sensing his father's irritability, Dean steadily rose to his feet and resume a protective stance over his baby sister. He folded his arms, and rolled his eyes, unaware that Chrissie was mimicking his mannerisms.

"Dad, what are you doing here?" he hissed, as John approached them.

John ignored his son, before levelling himself with his daughter. Chrissie cuddled into her brother's leg, after sensing her father's frustration towards her.

"Christina, what did I tell you?" scolded John. "You know the rules about wandering off!"

Chrissie gripped onto her brother's jeans, as her pout began to wobble. Dean scoffed in annoyance at his father, unimpressed that had he not only gate crashed his date with Jenny, but that he had upset Chrissie.

"I'll ask again, Dad, what are you doing here?" repeated Dean, as he scooped his sister up for a comforting hug.

John grunted, as he placed his hands on his hips. How was he going to explain himself without making things difficult? Things were already patchy with his eldest as it was. The shop lifting and the whole boys home situation didn't help either.

"Son, let me explain," began John, trying to keep his cool. "I was only looking out for you." He then lowered his voice. "You know what's out there."

Dean was appalled. He gazed around, hoping Jenny wasn't around to watch this scene unfold. He didn't need his father embarrassing him like this.

"Get off my ass, alright!" he snapped. "You let me go out in the first place! And where the hell is Sam? You've not left him alone have you?" On his father's silence on that question, Dean was even more mad. "You left him alone?!"

Chrissie buried her face into the crook of her brother's neck, as she clung onto him tightly.

"No loud voices" wept the little girl, stressed from all the negative and positive energies that were now bombarding her.

"Shhhh, it's alright, kiddo," he reassured, as he rubbed her back. "Don't cry. You know I don't like it when you cry. It hurts my heart when you cry."

The four-year-old gazed at her beloved brother with big tear-filled eyes.

"I know it does" she professed, as she sniffled.

Dean reluctantly handed his sister back over to their father. Chrissie hugged her father tightly, as John tried to calm her down. Dean spun around when he heard Jenny call his name.

"Aw, is this the little sister you were telling me about?" she beamed, giving a small wave to the tearful little girl in what she presumed to be Dean's father's arms. "I'm Jenny. What's your name?"

The little girl hiccupped, as she gazed down at the friendly young girl. She could sense nice things about her.

"Chrissie" mumbled the four-year old, and within an instant, her eyes lit up. "Daddy can we play bowling now?"

John sighed and nodded. Chrissie almost leapt from his arms, as she dashed across to gather a bowling ball for herself. In typical fashion, she choice the heaviest and the biggest one. She even snapped at Dean, insisting that she was a big girl and could do it herself, yet asking for his help moments later.

At the end of the date, Dean was rewarded with a kiss. The moment was ruined when a small voice cried out: "Ewww! Daddy, their doing kissy things!"

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